The Ultimate Heist
by Indecisively Yours
Summary: The ultimate heist isn't one where you steal a painting or million. The ultimate heist is one you can't prepare for, one that's unexpected. The ultimate heist is when you steal a heart.


Puck's new mission comes to him one day in a grey folder. The word confidential is stamped on the outside in bold, red block letters.

"Meeting in ten," the secretary tells him as she walks by his desk.

His eyes follow her as she heads to an office. Those boobs and that ass definitely make her a repeat offender. He has to have fun somehow in this place.

Digging through the file, he finds nothing of importance. Nothing that'll help him, that is.

No name for his target, no alias, nothing. There's just a list of items stolen that have yet to be recovered.

No evidence left behind at the scenes, either. He's good, he'll give the guy that.

He heads into the conference room after he's done skimming through the file, finding out he's the last to enter.

"Glad you could join us," his boss tells him.

He's worked for this woman for years and she's become family. They won't talk about it, though. It's better to keep things professional and not show the favoritism.

"Ma'am," he offers with a nod, taking the available seat closer to the head of the table.

"I take it you had time to read up on your new mission?" she asks.

"Not much to read up on," he says.

"Not much to go by," she counters.

He furrows his brows. "So we know nothing?"

"We know the kind of items he targets," she explains. "We know where he'll strike next. That's all we need."

"I'm sorry, but you're not giving me much information to work off," he informs her.

"Figured you'd be excellent for this," she says. "Your time with MI6 and missions across Europe should give you a great advantage."

He has had his fair share of missions overseas. He's been to the UK, Germany, Italy, Russia, even Israel.

"So you're sending me to…" He looks down at the file again. "France to go hunt down a thief? Isn't this a job for Interpol or something?"

"This isn't just any thief. You read the files. They aren't lacking because it's recent," she explains. "They're saying this could be the ultimate thief of the decade. And you're tasked with stopping him."

He wants to protest. He's about to, when he realizes it's basically a paid vacation to France to catch some petty thief who knows how to use gloves.

"When do I leave?"

* * *

Last time he came to France he spent most of it wasted or in bed. Not necessarily sleeping off a bender, either.

The end of his first week finds him at a high-end party where some designer displays his new line. The featured item just so happens to be a necklace valued at more than his yearly salary (maybe even double that).

He's really not too interested in this party but from what he hears the thief might show up to take a glance.

No one would be stupid enough to steal on the night of the unveiling right? Unless he was smart enough to catch them when their guards are down.

He spots nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing catches his eye. He passes on the thought to the guy out there with him, before telling him to have a drink and live a little. It's not like this thief will get very far tonight.

He's had his eye on a blonde floor model for most of the night. There are many floor models scattered about, wearing copies of the real thing around their necks.

There's something about this one that has him intrigued. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or the way she works the room.

He has to talk to her. He can't leave without at least getting her name and the prospect of a night in bed.

"Kind of sad you haven't made your way around to me," he says behind her.

He's fixated on the way she holds that champagne flute, the way her lips curve around the edge, the way her neck is exposed as she tilts her head back to drink.

"There are more than enough floor models," she says. "I'm sure one of them has made her way around to you."

"None of them as beautiful as you."

She turns around to face him, eyebrow quirked in response.

He cocks an eyebrow, too.

"You're very forward," she says.

"No use in wasting time, right?"

She steps closer. Her lips are close to his ear as her hand comes to rest on his chest. She called him forward, right?

"I get out at midnight," she whispers.

She's walking away then, flashing a hotel key card at him before she shoves it in her dress. He's immediately checking his jacket, unable to find his key.

Fuck, she's good.

* * *

Her dress is the first thing to go. Granted, he's trying to take off the damn tux in the interim, but his jaw drops alongside that dress.

She looks like a fucking angel. Perfection personified. It's not the few flutes of champagne he knocked back waiting for her that are talking or the Jack, either.

Fuck the tie and fuck the tux. He's closing the distance between the two of them then, lips crashing onto hers as his fingers begin to dance along her skin.

God, she feels perfect, too. If he was only granted permission to kiss her and touch her skin all night, he'd be content.

Her fingers manage to maneuver the buttons of his shirt easier than his do; his pants soon fall to the floor shortly after. The instant his shirt's off he's guiding her down onto the bed.

His lips trace every inch of her skin before his tongue gets to work. The moan that escapes her mouth makes him believe she hasn't been pleasured like this before.

He makes her the center of attention. Makes that moan become the only thing she can vocalize.

She meets him thrust for thrust. He swears he hasn't felt like this inside of anyone ever. She's different from the rest.

When she comes, she screams while on top, nails digging into his shoulder. She leans down and kisses him again as she rides out her climax.

She rests her head against the headboard when they're done. One glance over and he swears he just fucked an angel. Even with sex hair she looks perfect.

Neither she nor he talks about the way their bodies seem to gravitate toward one another before they fall asleep.

She's tucked into his side. He doesn't care that he breaks one of his rules in the process.

* * *

Groggy come morning, he wakes up just in time to see her slipping on her dress.

He wants to stop her. He wants to tell her to stay a while. He's never met someone like her and he doesn't want to see her go.

He reaches out in a daze. She notices. Leaning down, she presses a kiss to his lips.

"I'll see you around," she says.

He sees her grab the necklace from the nightstand and shove it in her purse before making her way out.

Necklace? His eyes shut with the thought. They open with a jolt and realization.

"Shit, shit, shit," he says.

He gets up from bed, rushing to the door to catch a glimpse of the angel who walked out. He ends up giving the couple across the hall something to look at, instead.

"Fuck!" He rushes to last night's tux and finds his phone, placing a call back to home base.

After rattling off his information, he's connected with his boss.

"It's not a man, it's a woman!" He's hoping about the room, trying to get his clothing back on. "It's a woman! The thief is a woman!"

"Slow down, Puck," his boss says. "How do you know this?"

"Cause I fucked her last night!"

Well, not exactly. Whatever they did last night definitely didn't fall into the category of a simple fuck.

"What? How do you know it's her?"

"She poses as a floor model! During these shows, she'll walk around making people think she has one of those copies the floor models get but then she walks away with the real thing!" He'd high five himself right now for putting all of this shit together so quickly.

"She doesn't register so they don't think anything's missing! She walks away like nothing and they don't notice until they're checking they're shit. She's long gone by then!"

"Go after her, then!" he hears shouted on the other side of the receiver. "You have her name, you have her info. Go!"

Except…he doesn't. He sighs, sitting down on the bed. He got one of the best nights of his life with a girl he thinks could have possibly been an angel but didn't get a name or a number or anything to contact her by at a later date. Sounds like his fucking luck.

"Puck? Are you there?"

"I gotta go," he says. He shuts the phone.

He's fucked this one up, big time.

* * *

She falls off the map after that France encounter. He knows she does, because he's been tracking every instance of high-end thefts and every one of them has ended up with a catch.

She's not that sloppy. Hasn't been since she started and wouldn't be now.

He just wants a sign. Something to let him know she's out there. Something to let him know that the night he shared with her wasn't some figment of his imagination or something out there playing a cruel trick on him.

Months go by and he almost loses all hope.

He gets word one day from the airline that his flight to Greece is all set. Greece? It's been on his list to visit but he hasn't set up the time.

He tries tracing it back to someone, any kind of source, but whoever did this is good. Very good, if you ask him.

The bank's unable to do anything because according to them, an authorized figure purchased them. Just his luck. He foots the bill for a couple to take their honeymoon to Greece.

He manages to get the time off, hoping to sort out that business himself over there.

Whoever was there had his account information and was racking up a storm in terms of day trips to cities he didn't even know existed.

When he gets to the airport and requests a ticket, he's told about his ticket on hold. Whoever this guy is just happens to be waiting for him. He's trying to bait him and get his attention. Well, mission accomplished.

He spends the whole flight (and the connecting flight, too) thinking of which dude might have gotten out or which dude was still on the run or with which he still had some issued unsolved. Safe to say, that list was pretty long.

He gets word of the last known location where his account was used and heads straight there.

It's a hotel near the coast. Yeah, the view's definitely beautiful, but there's no way he'd keep footing the bill for someone when that someone didn't include or start with him.

"The view's beautiful, isn't it?"

That voice. He knows that voice. He can't forget that voice. It's been haunting him for months in his dreams.

She turns her head with a smile. His angel. So she's real? Oh thank fuck. At least now he knows he's not going crazy. Wait, does that mean that she…? It's been her all along?

"Well come and sit," she ushers him over. "I ordered briám for the time being. Haven't been daring enough to try the lamb just yet."

He nods. It seems like an eternity passes before he sits down across from her. Yeah, she looks just like his angel. Yet there's a glow to her he can't place just yet.

"Here," she holds out a fork of food to him. "You'll like it."

He finds himself leaning forward, taking the proffered bite. She's right. He likes it.

"You should really safeguard your account more," she says. "I had the least bit of difficulty getting access to it as your wife."

"My what?" He shakes his head. "How did you—"

"I didn't get away with all of those heists simply because of my looks," she says.

She tucks her hair behind her ear before taking another bite. The smile she offers him has him feeling all sorts of feelings he's never felt from a chick giving him a smile.

"So then why did you stop?" he asks. "You could have kept going. Why'd you stop with the heists?"

She pushes her chair away and gets up from the table. That's when he notices it: the faint outline of a swollen belly that houses more than the briám she's been eating.

"You don't get away with things like that as easily when you're expecting," she answers. She gets up from her table, heading over to the counter. When she comes back, she stands next to him. "Walk with me. We'll talk as we enjoy the view. The lamb will be waiting for us when we get back."

He nods. He can't form words right now. A million and one questions are running through his mind right now. He's sure she'll answer a few. At least the important ones.

She keeps her hand in his as they walk by the water. He can't help but steal glances at her belly every so often.

"You have questions," she says. "Ask them."

"What's your name?"

"According to my passport, Quinn Puckerman," she says. "You've got an unusual last name. Here I thought you went by Puck as some sort of Shakespearean allusion."

"Your real name," he says.

He has to admit, hearing her say she used his last name and passed off as his wife to set all of this up is kind of turning him on. Okay, so it's really turning him on right about now.

She stops, glancing down at her belly before continuing to walk.

"Quinn Fabray," she says. A small smile graces her lips. "I haven't used that name in years. I almost forgot what it sounded like."

"What happened to the stuff?"

"Fenced it all," she says with a shrug. "I needed to support myself. Good luck finding all of the stuff, though. I've got great customers, whose names I won't be giving to you, and they're not ones to get caught. I can safely say I haven't had a bad fence yet."

"And it?" he adds, motioning down to her belly.

"_It_ is a _she_," she says.

She glances up at him, gauging his reaction.

"Cool," he says.

A small smile twists up on his face before it disappears all the same.

"Who's the—"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," she says.

"But we—"

"Didn't," she says.

"Are you gonna let me finish a sentence any time soon?"

"How long are you planning on sticking around to find out?"

He stops in his tracks. He turns to lock eyes with her, finally aware of the height difference between them. It's more noticeable when she's not in heels and a dress that hugged her in all the right places.

"Oh, wait she's kicking," she smiles. She reaches for his hand and places it just off to the side. "She's been doing that every so often since I mentioned you."

He can feel it. He can feel the small, little thump against his hand. His daughter. That's his daughter inside there and she's kicking up a storm because of him.

"Where do we go from here?"

He glances up at her. "What?"

"You found me. Are you going to turn me in?"

That's what he should be doing. He should be turning her in because it's part of his job. She's a thief and he should be doing his job.

She's also the mother of his child. His child that only deserves the best things because she's not at fault for what her parents did. She's the angel he was mesmerized by months ago in France and happens to be mesmerized by again here in Greece.

"Come back with me," he says. "You can live with me. We can be a family."

"No."

His world comes shattering down then and there. She doesn't want him around? She doesn't want him to be there with his daughter, _their_ daughter?

"I can't go back to the states. There's nothing for me there." She places her hands on his cheeks. "Stay with me."

"What?"

"Stay with me. With all the money I got from fencing everything, we could live comfortably for years," she says. "We'll raise her together in France or England or Italy or here. Anywhere but there."

He's unable to form words. Unable to properly describe how he's feeling right now. He nods.

She jumps into his arms, wrapping her own around him before placing her lips on his.

His job's or the two-week notice happen to be the last things on his mind as his lips move in sync with hers.

* * *

After the meal of lamb and a few hours of properly acquainting themselves with one another with jokes and conversations about whatever came to mind, they find each other back in bed.

She's hesitant this time around. Worried he won't see her like he did before because of the stretch marks that are starting to show.

He familiarizes himself with her skin all over again, stretch marks and all.

She screams his name this time around though she leaves the same marks as before.

They find themselves gravitating toward one another soon after. His chest presses against her back as he places kisses on her bare shoulder. Occasionally, she'll turn around and press her lips to his.

He runs away with the thief and their unborn baby a few days later. Might as well use up their vacation to their advantage.

Safe to say, they never prepared him for this back there. Then again, he's always been one to work with the unexpected turns life guides him through.


End file.
